Day 137 - Polynesian spirituality

March 20, 2019

I realize that, both in my blog entries and in my further explorations of the Polynesian galleries (as well as the other galleries in this wing),  I have paid little attention to the spiritual content of the objects I've been looking at, perhaps because the spiritual beliefs of these peoples seem so remote to me. Gallery 359, which houses a temporary exhibition called "Atea," is a strong reminder of the need to look for the meaning of these objects to the people who made and saw them.  "Atea" refers to the moment when, in the belief system of the ancient Polynesians, light emerged from darkness, islands emerged from the sea, and the first gods were born.  It's not difficult to see parallels with the creation story in Genesis,  in which God creates the firmament, the sun and the moon, etc.  Nor is it hard to understand that the ruling chiefs were believed to descend from the gods: The ancient Egyptians held similar beliefs, and until early modern times, European royals were often thought to rule by divine right and by divine inspiration. What is different is that the objects that the Polynesian rulers used were often made of organic substances  -- whalebone, the feathers of certain birds, high-grade coconut fiber cord -- that were themselves thought to have spiritual significance. 

Three objects I've chosen illustrate the importance of spirituality in the artifacts on view. The first is a "god house," a portable shrine that reproduced on a much smaller scale the large temples in which priests mediated the interactions between ancestral gods and the people. Its portability meant that the chief could carry the god house with him to seek divine guidance and aid. The god house on display, made in Fiji in the early 19th century, is about 4 feet high and 2 1/2 feet long on each side of its square base. Its wood framework is covered with elaborately worked coconut fiber cord of the finest quality and decorated with shells meant to resemble cowrie shells. The coconut fiber and the cowrie shell had special significance because they were believed to have originated in the Polynesians' ancestral home.  

The second work, a barkcloth made in Niue in the 19th century, is utterly magnificent. Perhaps 8 feet high and 6 feet long, its design resembles that of a patchwork quilt, with some 240 rectangles hand-painted with alternating geometric and vegetal forms.  Some of the latter, set on the diagonal, remind me of the fronds of an Areca palm,  while others resemble leaves and seed pods. Cloths like this were wrapped around the chief's body and emphasized his importance as a spiritual leader.

The third object, an enormous headdress perhaps 6 feet across and 4 feet high made in the Austral Islands in the early 19th century, was intended to be worn by the chief. It reinforced his status and connection to the gods not only through its imposing size but also through the materials of which it is made. Birds were associated with the primordial ancestors, and this headdress contains four different kinds of feathers, along with cane, shell, barkcloth, and human hair. (I have to say that I can't imagine the physical strength, quite aside from spiritual power, that the chief needed to wear this headdress. "Light as a feather "- maybe. But light as this headdress of so many feathers, large and small? No!)

I'm struck by the extraordinary level of workmanship involved in the making of all three objects. But now I'm wondering whether what I took to be a natural human desire to embrace beautiful things was largely confined to a relatively small elite, for whom beautiful things were an emblem of material power and wealth and, in the case of the Polynesians, spiritual power as well.